Drabbles
by Starrika
Summary: A series of drabbles set in the Flutterverse to be updated occasionally.
1. Light and Dark

The daughters Munroe are light and dark. When he first saw the two women, he was struck by their difference, not only in appearance, but in their fundamental being.

The elder, Cora, is all dark and flashing. Her temperament is much like his white son, fully of fiery conviction and a desire to prove herself. She is no shrinking gentlewoman. She is as wild as his white son; she is like the elk – endlessly bounding, testing it's freedom by how far it can run.

The younger, Alice, is light and airy. Her temperament is much like his blood-bound son, deep and still like the lakes in Ken-tuck-ee; yet she is full of an innocence he hates to see tainted, even though he does not know her. She is not a white gentlewoman, full of scorn for his people. She is gentle like his Maiara, who was warm to all, even an orphananed white boy who would become their son. Alice is like the wild flowers in the field – reaching for the warmth of the sun, but losing her petals with the first cold wind.

Chingachgook marvels how the father Munroe could produce both light and dark daughters from his blood. Like the sun and moon, the daughters Munroe revolve around each other, tempering themselves.


	2. Snow

There was something beautiful about snow.

Snow meant more work, and cold, and bitter nights around the fire and huddled around blankets, but it also meant that there was a hush in the air, with tiny flakes spinning and floating like dancers in a waltz.

He had come up beside her, silent, as she studied the falling snow in the fading light. Once more, she was struck between the balance of beauty and power in America's nature.

"It's beautiful, even as it brings us hardship," Alice murmured, the giddy sleigh rides and Yuletime parties of her father's regiment a distant figment of the past. Now, she saw only the snow dusting the trees and ground, and the necessity of bringing in another log for the fire.

Uncas' arm wound round her shoulders, and her head came to rest at the crook of his neck. "It is beautiful to balance the hardship," he said quietly, echoing Alice's thoughts from before. "But not as beautiful as you."

Alice smiled softly, leaning closer to his chest to capture the little warmth he radiated. "I hope I'm not that much hardship, then, in balance."

"Never. Each day with you is a gift," he replied, and they both knew he thought about that day on the cliffs.

Alice fell silent, watching the flakes become larger as they circled to the ground. There would be quite a bit, come morning. She was sure, though, that the sun glinting off the white world would be a beautiful sight.


	3. Words

Inspired by the John Mayer lyrics to the song "Say." As is obvious, the song is not mine._  
_

_Have no fear for giving in  
Have no fear for getting older  
You better know that in the end its better to say too much  
Than to never to say what you need to say again_

_Even if your hands are shaking  
And your faith is broken  
Even as the eyes are closing  
Do it with a heart wide open_

_Say what you need to say_

Uncas had never been a man of many words. He had never needed them. His brother, Nathaniel, spoke plenty. Words, to Uncas, were best used sparingly. Words had power.

When he was young, Uncas had learned the white man's words and the white man's books. He had learned how the white man could twist his words and turn them into something different, perverse. Nathaniel had earned more than a split lip over words when they were boys in the schoolhouse.

Words were unnecessary. He did not need words to track a deer or make his shot. He needed few words to give thanks, even less to communicate with his father and Nathaniel. He understood them fine, words or not.

And then he met the girl with the golden hair. Alice. And it seemed the words he had were not enough. He watched her, in the shadow of her sister, as roses bloomed in her cheeks at the climb. Her skirts became matted with mud, and still her hair shone in the light. And he still had no words for his fascination.

They walked on in silence, the gentle pressure of her hand in his stealing all his words away.

And when the world was madness, the words finally came to him. He looked to her as the machete sliced into him again and his vision clouded. As Uncas eyes began to close, his heart was open.

Alice looked to Uncas' body on the rocks below and took a step back. The words were never necessary.


	4. Surly

AN: For the December Drabble Challenge at the Livejournal community mohicanland. I encourage everyone to go check it out!

Alice would have considered him churlish if she did not owe her life, in part, to him. Nathaniel was an intimidating man, quick tempered with Duncan, and an enthralling source of fascination for Cora that Alice truly could not understand. He was not a man she would ever be drawn to.

However, the desire to shy away from him was tempered by his act of kindness to their party. And, if Alice were being honest, he was not an unkind man. When he took up the rear of their party, on the way to the fort, he was just as attentive as Uncas in helping her over uneven paths or pausing for her to catch her breath. It was difficult to reconcile the man who wordlessly aided her with the surly demeanor he presented to Duncan and Cora.

If Alice suspected he entertained a fascination for her sister, she said nothing.

He spoke to her, sometimes, when he was at the rear of the party, which was so very different from the lapsed silences she shared with Uncas. His humor was quick, his wit sardonic. It was not the proper conversation she heard around tea tables and in drawing rooms.

When he looked toward Duncan and Cora, his wit was not so amusing, his face less good-natured. He lacked the smooth-stone faces of Uncas and Chingachgook. Then, Alice would concede, as moved closer to the party to exchange barbs with Duncan, Nathaniel was not an even-tempered man.


	5. Wanton

In the novels she had read, a first kiss was a beautiful thing, a seal on the compact of marriage. When Cora spoke to her about kissing, it was infused with passion, although Alice had her doubts that it was Duncan that inspired such talk. Her friend Cecilia, back in London, told her kissing was like the thrill of riding a galloping horse – you were fearful of being thrown, but enjoying yourself too much to slow down.

For Alice, her first kiss was none of these things.

She was now in America, far from the ballrooms where she had pictured meeting a debonair man in uniform. She was bedraggled and bruised, having run for her life. She had spent the last three days hiking across rough terrain to a fort under siege, trying to escape a war party of savages. She owed her life to another savage.

A savage who made her insides flutter more than any man in uniform she had ever met.

Father had sent her away as soon as she had arrived at Fort William Henry, and Alice knew that this meant she was being sheltered. Her sister Cora was the strong one, the one able to work in the surgery and hear the tactics of war. She was the invalid schoolgirl, frail Alice, too much like her mother to be exposed to such things.

She found herself a corner, far from the bustle of loading cannons or the colonists sheltering in the commons area. She could hear the soft strains of a fiddle, punctuated by the whoops of a few men and women dancing a reel around a fire. She could hear the dull thud of cannon fire, and some of the noise was punctuated by the vibration of the fort walls. The French were close.

Alice knew the siege would not last much longer.

He joined her then, the savage who had saved her with the help of his father and brother. _Uncas_. They were Mohican, although Alice had no idea what the difference between the tribes were. To her, they all appeared the same, with odd clothing and wild hair. Uncas, however, was somehow different.

"What are you doing here, Miss Alice?" he asked, taking a seat next to her, his back against the wall. His voice was even and measured, not revealing his thoughts. His eyes, however, were kind. It was his eyes that had begun her fascination.

"I am too frail to hear the talk of men," she replied quietly. She had spent the entire flight to the fort wanting to forget all about America's savagery and war, but now – now she needed to know what she would face. She had had enough of surprises.

"Ah," Uncas said. They sat in silence for a moment. "It will not hold – the fort. That is what they will not tell you."

Alice paled, but she did not lose her composure. "I, I knew. Or supposed."

It was surprising when his callused fingers intertwined with hers, clasping her hand reassuringly. Her face infused with redness. If anyone saw-

"I will watch over you," he said, an echo from before, when he had saved her from Magua and his war party.

Alice could not meet his eyes. He was not the savage she had expected, roving the wilderness and scalping settlers. The men who had saved her had done nothing but defy her expectations. He was no more rough and uncultured than her father's soldiers, and more honorable than some. There was something about him that put her at ease, made it too easy for her to behave wantonly. It simply was not proper to be so conversant with him.

It was not proper to feel fluttery when she spoke with him.

"Miss Alice," he said quietly.

Alice could not avoid his gaze. It would be dreadfully rude. She returned her gaze from the dancers and the fire to look at him. His hand still gripped hers, thumb brushing gently over the back of her hand. The fluttery feeling seemed to intensify the beating of her heart and her mouth went dry.

His lips touched hers and Alice's eyes drifted shut. His grip on her hand tightened, and the quivering feeling of anticipation heightened, rather than dissipated. It was lovely and wanton and better than everything she had been told.

It was also wrong.

Uncas broke their kiss, but his face was still close enough to hers that he might kiss her again. She wanted him to kiss her again. The overwhelming desire to forget what was proper almost took her breath away. This did not feel like the grand passion Cora had described. Alice felt as if someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed. She felt _guilty_.

If she did not stop this madness, she did not know where her wantonness would end. She felt like a carriage careening wildly out of control, unable to right itself after tipping dangerously.

Dropping Uncas' hand, she rose quickly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and ran for her father's quarters.


End file.
